IN WIDENER'S GAP
There was always a spice of novelty and excitement for the young
engineer in running a special. Besides that, extra orders meant pay
and a half, sometimes double pay, with twenty-four hours' rest after
it, if the special run came after midnight.
Ralph arose from his seat in the summer-house, telling Ned Davis that
Fogg and himself would report at the roundhouse at once.
"You'll have to excuse me, Porter," he said to his guest. "We'll have
to postpone our talk until to-morrow."
"Duty call, I see," returned Fred. "Well, there's no urgency, now that
I've found out you don't consider me some hideous impostor of the old
story book kind. I'll go as far with you as a hotel, and tell you what
I have to say after this trip."
"You'll camp right here at the Fairbanks cottage until I return,"
peremptorily declared Ralph. "My mother would be lonesome if there
wasn't a boy somewhere about the house. Zeph is gone and my other
friends, and you will be good company."
"I'm only too willing, if it's entirely agreeable," said Fred, and so
it was settled.
Fogg grumbled a good deal when Ralph told him of the extra call. He
declared that he had just succeeded in teaching the baby to say "All
aboard!" looked at the sky and predicted the biggest storm of the
season, and was cross generally until he climbed aboard No. 999. Then
Ralph heard him talking to the well-groomed steel steed as if it was
some pet racer, and he anxious and glad to put it through its paces.
"What's the run, Fairbanks?" asked the fireman, as Ralph returned from
the roundhouse office.
"Nothing very interesting. Special sleeper, some convention crowd for
Bridgeport, came in on the north branch. We've got to pick our way on
our own schedule."
"Huh! thought it must be a treasure train, or the pay car at the
least!" snorted Fogg contemptuously, but thoroughly good-natured under
the surface.
When they backed down to the depot, Ralph was handed his flimsy
orders. No. 999 was given standard special lights, with the usual
markers at the rear of the sleeping car, but no one on platform
charge. The coach had a conductor, but he barely showed himself, and
went inside, where all the curtains were drawn and passengers
evidently gone to sleep.
"I told you it was going to rain," spoke Fogg, as they cleared the
limits and got ready for a spurt. "All schedule cancelled where we can
get clear tracks, I suppose? All right, let's see what 999 can do on
slippery rails."
No. 999 did famously, as she always did under the guidance of the
vigilant young engineer. Ralph was learning a good deal lately, and
his mind was always strictly on the business of the moment when at the
throttle. He was learning that there was a science in running a
locomotive a good deal deeper than merely operating throttle, brake
and lever automatically. There was a way to conserve the steam energy
and reserve wide-open tactics for full pressure that he had found out,
which enabled him to spurt when the chance came, at no cost of
exhaustion later. He knew the gauges by heart, how to utilize the
exhaust, and worked something along the line of the new superheated
steam theory.
The night had set in very dark and very stormy. They had nothing to
look out for, however, on the out track except an accommodation that
had started two hours previous. No. 999 had a light load, and she sped
along without a jar. The wires took care of her. By nine o'clock they
were twenty miles "to the good" on regular schedule basis.
After that it was slower progress. The wind had arisen to a hurricane,
the rain came down in torrents, and as they passed Winston they began
to get in among the hills, where there was a series of intricate and
dangerous curves.
"It's nearly a waterspout," observed Fogg, as the rain swept against
the cab as if driven from a full pressure hose, and they could feel
the staunch locomotive quiver as it breasted great sweeps of the wind.
"I don't like that," he muttered, as a great clump came against the
cab curtain. And he and his engineer both knew what it was from past
experience.
"One of those young landslides," spoke Ralph.
"The second in a half-an-hour," declared Fogg. "It's clear mud, but
sometime in one of these storms we'll get a big drop of rock, and
there'll be mischief afoot."
Ralph slowed as they entered a long stretch known as Widener's Gap. It
was a pull up hill. Besides that, Widener was only two miles ahead,
and the curves were so sharp and frequent that they could not catch
the semaphore at any distance.
Both engineer and fireman were under an intense strain, and Ralph kept
a keen lookout from his cab window. Fogg was doing the same. Suddenly
he uttered a great shout. It was echoed by Ralph, for there was cause
for excitement.
"A tree!" yelled Fogg.
Ralph set the air and pulled the lever in a flash. What the gleaming
headlight of No. 999 had shown, however, they were upon in a leap.
They could feel a grinding jar, but the pilot had evidently swept the
obstacle aside. They could hear the branches sweep the top of the
engine. Then there came a warning sound.
Bumpety-bump,-bump-bump! The tree, uprooted from the gap side by the
rain and the wind, had descried half a circle, it seemed, when shifted
by the pilot. Its big end had rolled under the coach. From the feeling
the young engineer could guess what had happened.
"Shut her off!" shouted Fogg.
"The coach has jumped the track!" echoed Ralph quickly.
His heart was in his mouth as he made every exertion to bring the
locomotive to a quick stop. No. 999 acted splendidly, but it was
impossible to slow down under two hundred feet.
"Both trucks off--she's toppling!" yelled Fogg, with a backward
glance.
Each instant Ralph waited for the crash that would announce a
catastrophe. It did not come. The coach swayed and careened, pounding
the sleepers set on a sharp angle and tugging to part the bumpers.
Ralph closed the throttle and took a glance backwards for the first
time.
"The coach is safe, Mr. Fogg," he spoke. "Get back and see how badly
the passengers are mixed up."
"There's nothing coming behind us?" asked the fireman.
"No, but tell the conductor to set the light back as far as he can
run."
"Allright."
"The Night Express!" gasped Ralph the next moment, in a hushed
whisper, as he caught the faint echo of a signal whistle ahead of them
in the distance.
An alarming thought came into his mind. Nothing could menace them
ahead on the out track and nothing was due behind, but the coach
attached to No. 999 stood on a tilt clear across the in track.
Along those rails in ten minutes' time, unaware of the obstruction,
the night express would come thundering down the grade at a forty-mile
clip around the sharp curves of Widener's Gap.
"It's 38. She's due, entering Widener," breathed Ralph. "Yes," with a
glance at the cab clock, "and just on time. Mr. Fogg," he shouted
after his fireman, leaping to the ground, "get the people out of that
coach--38 is coming."
"The Night Express," cried Fogg hoarsely. "I never thought of it."
Ralph tore one of the rear red tender lights from its place. He
started down the out rails on a dead run. His only hope now was of
reaching the straight open stretch past the last curve in open view of
Widener. To set the warning signal short of that would be of no avail.
No. 38 could not possibly see it in time, coming at full speed, to
avoid a smash-up.
In a single minute the young engineer was drenched to the skin. It was
all that he could do to keep from being blown from his footing. He
fairly counted the seconds as he shot forward, sprinting to the limit
on that slippery, flooded roadbed. He could not restrain a shout of
relief and hope as he turned the last curve.
"Widener--38!" he gasped.
The station lamps were visible, a mile distant. Somewhat nearer, a
blur of white radiance amid the dashing rain, was the headlight of
No. 38 showing that she was coming at momentarily increasing speed.
Ralph aimed to run nearer to the air line stretch to plant the signal.
Suddenly his feet tripped and he went headlong. The breath seemed
knocked out of his body as he landed across the ties of the brief
trestle reach, which he had forgotten all about in his excitement. The
lantern, flung wide from his grasp, struck one rail, smashed to
pieces, and the lamp went out as it dropped with a flare into the deep
gully beneath.